


Disjointed Drabbles of Hobbit-y Nature

by elluvias



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Crossover sort of with the abhorsen series in the second chap, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:34:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elluvias/pseuds/elluvias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles and unfinished story/ficlet ideas. Whenever pairings come up I'll put them in the tag thingy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hobbits are Stars

And it is in the swirling colors of the stone that he understands what he holds. Oh of course the first moment he glimpsed it he had thought of its shining beauty, familiar somehow, and how he had wanted to hold it. Then it sunk in, in careful broken pieces, the knowledge it tried to hide in plain sight, the spell it wove on all others, but could not truly weave over him.

“ _Simaril_.”

He knows the word, as all hobbits do. In his hands he is holding the herald of death and misfortune, a piece of a soul of Feanor, the greatest of Noldor. In his hands he is holding the End of It All, and all he wants to do is bow his head in grief. The first of the three to be taken from their hiding places, to be found, and of course it had to be the dwarves. Because why not try to blame it all on the dwarves?

But it is not the dwarves fault, it is no one’s fault really, not like that nasty Balrog business where it was the dwarves own idiocy. No this is something else, something far greater than a single Kingdom rising or falling at the hand, well claws of a dragon. There is something grander at work, being woven into this quest and of course now Gandalf’s bloody interference makes sense now, how he needed a hobbit to come along.

For out of all beings that walk Middle Earth, there would be none other than a hobbit who could ignore the tainted siren song of a simaril. What could the shimmering light do to tempt a hobbit? Honestly, it’d be quite akin being tempted by one’s great-grandmother. Which made Bilbo scrunch his nose in distaste and send a stern mental shove towards the simaril in his hands. It was one of the greatest ruses ever played upon Middle-Earth, the hobbits being either ‘half men’, the unknown secret children of Yavanna, or (which was the closest) the strange unclaimed bastard cousins of the elves. Yavanna was their teacher, their Guide, the one who whispered secrets of the earth and all green growing things in their delicate ears. Men were, well not related at all, and elves were if you squinted hard enough.

Varda was their creator. She had crafted them from their too large feet to their curly heads, she had taken traits from all the others, pieced them together and breathed in life. Their hearts and souls were the stars themselves, bright shining lights against the blackness. They were meant to be the guides for the lost, the weary, the souls who needed help remembering the important things in life. Where the other Valar had sent maiar disguised as old men to do their bidding, Varda, clever kindhearted Varda had sent a people. People constant and forever changing, people bright and hopeful, people resilient against the black, people who would protect the heart and soul.

He wants to call out to his lady, though she is not here in the dark twisting tunnels of Aule’s children. He wants to scream because has all of this been for naught? Have the dwarves not just regained their kingdom, now only to lose it because the damnable thing is here?

“I know what you do. Don’t think I don’t. You were good once, I think, but now you’re not. You’re cursed and I can’t tell if you welcome it or if you fight it. Either way you’re leaving. Those dwarves out there are my friends, my family, and I will not see you destroy them. No sir. I have not riddled with dragons, been nearly drowned, or eaten, or done a multitude of unrespectable things only to see them lose it all. They will have a home, they will have safety and security to do dwarvish things, until the End of Days. Which I suppose shall be happening fairly soon, relatively speaking, since you popped up. So you and I are going to go on a walk, a long walk, where I am going to hand you to a maia and he is going to do something with you that I hope involves shoving you down a Balrog’s throat and making it choke on you.”

Bilbo muttered to the simaril, his mutable eyes shifting in tandem with the colors of the stone. It tried to heat up, tried to burn him, before he tsked under his breath and flicked the hard surface.

“None of that, thank you. I don’t care how much of a grudge you bear towards the dwarves you’re not ruining them. Not on my watch. Now, since we have an understanding cousin, I am going to put you someplace safe until Gandalf shows up again. My undergarments should do nicely since I doubt anyone in this Company is interested in those.”


	2. AU Crossover Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because I am the super nerdlet and read too much Old Kingdom for my own good

Bilbo Baggins was without a shred of doubt the most Tookish looking Baggins to ever retain the Baggins' name. His hair was a warm honey brown and his eyes a malleable medley of colors that no Baggins had ever claimed before in their bloodline. Before Bilbo Baggins' birth there had been only one color to show itself in the bloodline, black. Baggins' eyes were supposed to be black, like raven's wings or obsidiean. They weren't supposed to be the fey bright shifting colors of the Tooks, or the clear bright blues of the Brandybucks. Baggins' were respectable with their dark eyes and dark hair. At least there was something that Bilbo could claim to be directly from the Baggin's side of the family, and that was his skin. Pale like marble, pale like freshly fallen snow. Not that all Bagginses were supposed to be that pale, but it was easy enough to spot one in the market, standing out amongst the sun kissed colors that all the other hobbits had. When a family had dealt with death and the dead as much as the Baggins had, then a few things tended to rub on off on them.

It sounded far more ominous than it actually was in practice. Because while the Bagginses dealt with death and the dead, they never went about the messy and morally objectionable way of raising the dead. Oh no sir, the dead were dead for a reason, sometimes it was a good reason, sometimes it was a tragic reason, others highly ironic. Either way if the dead weren't supposed to be dead, then the Valar would have gone and done such things as giving everyone immortality and let it be done with. But since not everyone was in fact immortal, and there were more than just a petty handful of people with the gumption to think that they knew better than the Valar and Eru, the Bagginses were given a task. A very clear task, a complex task given in the most simple of orders. Maintain the balance of life and death. Simple concept, terribly complex in the execution. For to learn how to keep the dead, well dead, one had to learn how to make the dead undead. A reverse necromancer, one well versed in the dark art itself, but one who used it solely for the purposes of putting the dead back where they belonged.

And Bilbo Baggins, queer little Bilbo Baggins, with his warm hair and tookish eyes was named Abhorsen. Abhorsen, the name the dead whispered in hatred, the name that caused dark things in shadows to twist in fear.

The name that Bilbo Baggins was currently wishing he didn't have because of the bloody wizard standing in front of him. Wizards never meant anything good, and a wizard at the house of the Abhorsen meant something great and terrible had happened and Bilbo was supposed to go fix it. Perhaps his temper was a bit more frayed because he also had thirteen dwarves rampaging through his house, pillaging his pantry, sacking his bathroom, and singing terribly catchy songs about his poor manners as a host. He certainly wasn't a poor host, since all the dwarves were still in one piece, not on fire, and not thrown headfirst into Death. Perhaps he should get his bells and see how the dwarves decided to behave in the presence of the Abhorsen.

"Gandalf, a word if you please."

With those words Bilbo grabbed the wizard's sleeve and began to bodily drag the taller male out of the smial and to a secluded and private place.

"Yes my dear Bilbo?"

"Why have you brought them here? I am the Abhorsen! Not a nursemaid or a burglar! I deal with the dead I-"

"That is precisely why you're needed with them. There's more than just Smaug that awaits the dwarves in Erebor and you well know it. Smaug has sundered the Veil between the living world and the world of the dead. They will likely get there, defeat the dragon, only to be overwhelmed by whatever has slipped through. How can they truly reclaim their Kingdom if the dead take it over?"

Bilbo sighed, an inarticulate noise of frustration leaving his throat. His fingers ran through his curly hair as he glared up at Gandalf. "And what of the situation in Mirkwood? I was told by Thranduil himself that something there needed my attention. Is this more important?"

"Yes. Don't worry Bilbo, I will take care of Mirkwood and you can deal with Erebor."

"Because a dragon and a city full of dead is something not to worry about, how silly of me."

The hobbit huffed before waving his hands in defeat. "Fine, and if you've somehow managed to muck up whatever is lingering in Mirkwood I'll just kip over there and deal with it on my way back from miraculously surviving a dragon and a legion of dead. You know I wonder if sometimes you aren't occasionally trying to kill us all in some terrible revenge."

"Why would you ever think that?"

The hobbit shot the wizard a glance. His eyebrows raised as he looked at the grey clad figure up and down, noting that as always the lower part of Gandalf's neck was hidden as always. "Because I know it was my family who bound you and your brethren to their forms when you came upon these shores. Just as I know that should I try to, you'd obey my commands. The only reason I don't think you're out to kill us all is because you were one of two that submitted to the binding willingly out of the four brought to Arda."


End file.
